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I know whatsa matter with you." "So do I." Oliver was smiling a little now, the whole scene was so arabesque. "I want to go to my hotel." "You move on. You move on quick!" said the policeman vastly. "It's a long walk down to the hoosegow and I don't want to take you there." "I don't want to go there," said Oliver. "But my hotel " "Quit arguin'"! said the policeman in a bark like a teased bulldog.
"C'mon," said he and took her again by the hand. They had not gone ten steps when she stumbled and fell against him. "Whatsa matter?" "Nothing," was the almost breathless reply. "I'm I'm all right. I just stepped on a sharp stone." "Yore shoes!" he murmured, contritely. "I never thought. Why didn't you say something? Here."
"Lookit, Jack, let Miss Dale have her sleep out, and to-morrow sometime send a couple of boys with her over to Moccasin Spring." "Whatsa matter with you and one of the boys doing it?" "Because I have to go to Piegan City." "Huh?" "Yep Piegan City. I'm coming back, though, so you needn't worry about losing the hoss yo're gonna lend me." "That's good. But "
"I s'pose you think that by sticking away off yonder where the grass is long nobody will suspicion you. If you do, yo're crazy. Folks ain't so cross-brained as all that." "Not so dam loud!" Lanpher cautioned, excitedly. "Say, whatsa matter with you?" demanded the stranger, leaning back against the gate and spreading his long arms along the top bar.
"Lookit here, Alicran," the peevish Lanpher burst forth when he and his henchman had forded the creek and were riding westward, "whatsa matter with you, anyway?" "With me?" Alicran tilted a questioning bead. "I dunno. I don't feel a mite sick." "What do you think I hired you for?" Heatedly. "Gawd he knows." Business of rolling a cigarette. "Yo're supposed to be a two-legged man with a gun."
They sat quite still and stared at the man and the gun behind the body of their friend Rack Slimson. They said nothing. Perhaps there was nothing to say. "I hear you were expectin' me, Doc," drawled Racey, his eyes bright with cold anger. "Whatsa matter?" he added. "Ain't three of you enough to take care of any mistakes?" At which Doc Coffin's right hand flashed downward.
Yeth, he'th crathy ab-out them. Ain't he cute squattin' there all same hoptoad and a-workin' away two-handed? Only he ain't a-workin' now. He's stopped workin'. He's gettin' all red in the face. He's mad at Swing who never done him no harm nohow. Whatsa matter, Racey?" he added in his natural voice. "What bit you on the ear this fine an' summer day?"
Jack Harpe watched them, threw up a few more half-hearted shovelfuls, and then slammed the implement to earth with a clatter, hitched up his pants, and strode hurriedly after the officers. "That proves it, I guess," said Swing. "Naturally. She's enough for us, anyhow. it to !" "Whatsa matter?" inquired Swing, surprised at his friend's vehemence. "Whatsa matter? Whatsa matter?
"I'd laugh, too, if I stood to win twenty-four hundred in six months." Mr. Saltoun shook a whimsical head at Racey Dawson. "Whatsa use?" he asked, sorrowfully. "Whatsa use?" "You was too easy with him," declared Swing, as he and Racey were unsaddling at the Bar S corral. "You could 'a' stuck him for three hundred a month just as easy." Racey shook a decided head.
But at the greeting he set down the liquor untasted, turned his head, and looked into the face of Racey Dawson. "Whatsa matter, Peaches?" inquired Racey. "You don't look glad to see me." "I ain't," Peaches said, frankly. "I don't give a damn about seein' you." "I'm sorry," grieved Racey, edging closer to the gambler. "Peaches, yo're breaking my heart with them cruel words."
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